


Caught

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, Gen, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Spoilers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-02
Updated: 2008-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-01 06:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10182749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Two conditions did Harry have in order for him to join the Dark Lord in his coup d'etat: the guarantee that he wouldn't die and companionship. Horcruxes help one, while Barty Crouch helps the other - an agreement benefiting both the Death Eaters and Harry Potter.





	1. Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**One - Caught**

“I know who you are,” Harry Potter said from his seat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. “I know what you're planning to do, I know who you work for.”

To say Barty Crouch, the son mind you, was surprised, would be an understatement. He was undercover for five months now, baring nighttime constantly drinking Polyjuice Potion, in an elaborate plot to bring back his Master, Lord Voldemort, and at the same time escape the clutches of his father. He fooled Dumbledore and McGonagall, was even more proud in fooling Severus Snape. He remembered the latter as a loser in his youth, though an intelligent loser. Barty was on a mission and he let nothing or nobody stand in his way, so it didn't come as a surprise for Harry Potter to be staring at the wrong end of Alastor Moody's former wand.

“Who do you think I am?” Barty asked, completely in act with Moody's personality.

“Barty Crouch, formerly deceased and convicted Death Eater,” Harry answered easily.

Barty gripped the wand tighter. “And what are you planning to do with that information?”

Harry smiled mysteriously. “At the moment, nothing. What I eventually will do depends on the direction this conversation turns out to go.”

Barty eyed the fourteen year old in front him cautiously. Part of him was furious at being found out by a kid twenty years younger than he was, another part was very curious. The boy confronted him alone, either an act of foolishness or an act of unknown confidence. His few responses until now hinted at the latter. Decision made he sat back in his own seat, conveniently directly across his 'opponent'.

“If I lower my wand, can I trust you not to act against me?”

“You can,” was Harry's faintly amused answer.

Barty did so, taking a deeper look at the boy his plans were aimed at. Harry Potter wore slightly frayed robes, ugly glasses, but had a gaze that spoke of strength, something Barty hadn't noticed until now. Harry wasn't peculiarly handsome or tall, but held an inner strength hidden from most, reminding Barty eerily of his Master before he lost his body. Maybe it was because of the situation he was in that these thoughts rose in Barty's mind, maybe things always had been like this and someone simply was as good at hiding as he was.

“How do you know?” Barty asked.

Harry smirked momentarily. “You might say it was a combination of talent, having the right tools and and an intricate amount of curiosity. I shouldn't worry for your cover from somebody else than I and eventual errors you might make. The tool I speak of is a unique artifact registering everybody in this castle, including people's name and whereabouts. I own this artifact, though several other people are aware of it.”

That made Barty think for a second. He could vaguely remember Pettigrew mentioning a map.

“And what is this talent you speak of?”

“Something I'm born with that manifested itself the night your master tried to kill me,” Harry answered. “I don't know if it has an officially sanctioned name, I simply call it truth. I instinctively know a person's intentions and desires. If I spend enough time in the presence of a person, I tend to know the way that person thinks and feels, and act accordingly.”

Barty barely managed to hide his shock. If what Potter was saying was true, he never stood a chance in whisking him away. Unless Potter went willingly... His curiosity wasn't sated though, Barty always had an interest in the way minds worked and Potter would a very interesting subject.

“I suppose that helps in finding friends and people you trust?”

Harry's answer was a sad smile. “I don't think you'd be surprised to know how dubious and insincere people generally are. There is not one person I've encountered of whom I can say I genuinely like them or trust them. The truth is a bitter pill to swallow and sometimes better left unknown.”

Barty nodded thoughtfully. Humans were like that, he knew, none were without errors; being confronted with that knowledge constantly couldn't be nice.

“Why are you telling me this?” Barty asked genuinely.

“Because I find unquestionable loyalty a very attractive trait,” Harry responded. “And wizards like you and me need to stick together.”

That dumbfounded Barty. “Wizards like you and me?”

Amusement clouded Harry's expression. “Wizards who like other wizards. Recall that I am aware of other people's intentions as well as desires. Whether they be romantic, material, sexual, emotional, intellectual, I know. “

Barty coughed briefly. Talking about revelations. Of course Barty was aware of his gender preference,it wasn't as if he could deny his fantasy and body, still it wasn't an aspect of himself he allowed easily. Homosexuality was one of the greatest taboos known in the wizarding world. There wasn't any vocal protest against, nor were there laws banning it, but it was something frowned upon. The population density of the wizarding world made it so that only a handful of wizards and witches of each generation were homosexual. If you were, chances were slim you ended with a partner. Some married the other gender nonetheless, providing for an offspring, and dreamed their whole lives of a different existence. A lot couldn't cope with the loneliness stemming from not having a partner and lived on the edge of what most considered sane. A lot of magical inventions were done by unofficial homosexual wizards and witches for the simple reason that invention meant experimenting with magic, a very dangerous thing to do. Barty thought he'd done a good job with his life so far. Of course, years spent in Azkaban and another long time spent under the Imperius Curse was an easy way to go through life.

What Potter confessed wasn't all that irrational, but the logic happened on a basic level. Barty wondered whether it was because of 'the truth' Potter chose to follow through with this. Probably.

“For someone as resistant to the Imperius Curse as you, you have a very weak emotional disposition,” noted Barty. It was a tempting offer for a man with his history, but he refused to continue _that_ path without further assurances. His current goal in life was bringing about the return of Voldemort, his personal needs came second.

“Everybody has a price,” Harry spoke, “Nobody is infallible. I learned that when I discovered Dumbledore's initial plans about me in my First Year. My price is quite easily fulfilled, I doubt your Master would object if he heard them.”

Barty's heartbeat quickened, he couldn't help it.

“What is your price then?” Barty demanded quietly, part of him cursing his disguise. Alastor Moody's body elicited strange behavior when excited, probably due to all its malfunctions.

Harry looked straight into Barty's eyes. “Life and companionship. As an argument for the former, you may say I said he left something behind thirteen years ago that reminds me of a ring distant family of mine once owned. As for companionship, if you are agreeable...”

Barty memorized those three phrases by heart and started planning a visit to his disembodied Master as soon as possible. Then he would, hopefully, accept Potter's proposition.

Harry stood up and walked to the door. Just as he was going to close it, he said: “I thank you for your time, Professor, I hope you find my request acceptable.”

Barty stared at the door for a while, thinking about the short, but informative conversation he had had. A lot of plans were going to have to change, no matter his Master's answer. Harry Potter turned out to be more perceptive than his Lord ever imagined. Barty decided that was for the best, it proved his Master had reason to be wary of Harry Potter correctly in 1981.


	2. All I Want

  
Author's notes: Barty asks permission, Harry contemplates and takes action.  


* * *

Deliberation, determination and destination, the three D's of Apparition; Barty Crouch remembered his lessons well. Back in 1977 he'd been the fastest at grasping the concept of Apparition of his year, it only taking three lessons for him to Apparate by himself. It wasn't because he was an extraordinary powerful wizard, Barty's forte never lay in the wand-waving arts; he held however a natural curiosity in the way the world and specifically humans operated. If he had been a Muggle, he probably would have ended up a psychiatrist, an anthropologist or even a successful preacher. As it was, Barty wasn't aware extensive studies of the human mind and society had been made by Muggles and he ended up analyzing the world around him, didn't like what he saw, became a Death Eater in hopes of revolutionizing the wizarding world.

The feeling of squishing through a small ended, causing Barty to look around him warily. He told Dumbledore he had some business to clear out in his home, a pretext for reporting to his Lord. It was a mystery why his Lord chose a Muggle mansion – of all places – as temporary headquarters, but so far nobody came looking. He moved to the grounds silently, not daring to disturb his surroundings. Cautiously he opened the door to the room his Lord resided in.

"My Lord?" asked Barty tentatively. A chair turned, revealing the humuculus of his Master.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Hogwarts, Barty?"

Barty lowered his head submissively. "I told the old man I had some urgent business to take care of in Moody's home, the old man didn't object."

"Proceed, what is this news you need to tell me?" Voldemort questioned.

Barty's eyes darted around the room, trying to locate a rodent. Not finding it, he raised his head slightly, looking straight at his Lord. Barty was right. The strength in Potter's gaze equalled his Lord's. Barty licked his lips in a small gesture of anxiety.

"Potter came in my office yesterday afternoon, My Lord," Barty started. Lord Voldemort's look intensified. "He knows the plan. Well, he doesn't know the details, but he knows what we want to accomplish, is aware of my identity."

Voldemort's eyes widened at that revelation. "The boy didn't tell the fool?"

Barty shook his head. "Potter made a proposition, Master."

"A proposition?" Voldemort vaguely wondered whether all those years spent as a spirit didn't affect him more than he initially thought.

"In trade for a cease of attempts on his life, he wants to extend his cooperation." Barty shuffled his feet. Potter hadn't outright told him that, but he implied it, didn't he? "He also told me to tell you he said that you left something behind thirteen years ago that reminded him of a ring distant family of him once owned. Does that make sense to you, My Lord?"

Voldemort's expression froze. He knew damn well what he planned for the 31stof October 1981, just as he knew that the Potters descended from the Peverells, just as the Gaunts, his maternal family. He also knew what he had done with the family signet ring. What did Potter imply exactly though? That Potter possessed one of his Horcruxes? That couldn't be though; Voldemort wriggled the events concerning Potter's departure of Godric's Hollow from Hagrid when he was still an appendix of Quinten Quirell. Accompanying Potter had only been a blanket and his baby robes. Besides, something had gone wrong with the creation of his Horcrux that night, ending up in the destruction of his body.

A piece of his soul had been left behind though. A clear recollection of one of Barty Crouch's reports during the beginning of the summer came into his attention, one of Potter having a vision of the Riddle house. As far as Voldemort was aware, one didn't just have visions unless one was a Seer. It would be a cold day in hell before Potter would be a Seer. Which would mean that his soul piece attached to Potter.

If Voldemort had a spine, a shiver would've gone through it.

"It does," Voldemort finally affirmed, getting rid of the shock.

Barty closed his eyes briefly. While his Lord hardly had anything to do with his private life, it couldn't be said that that affected the plan as well.

"Potter also, well, demanded something else."

"What exactly does he want?" While Voldemort cared about his Horcruxes, they were him after all, he wouldn't hesitate in eliminating his second-to-last if its carrier started demanding too much.

Barty's eyes averted Voldemort's appearance for the first time during the report, settling on a dirty spot on the wall behind his Lord.

"Potter wants... company," Barty told. He didn't want to say more than that. He might be devoted to his Lord, his Lord wasn't exactly one to talk of these things. In Barty's eyes, Voldemort transcended human things such as emotional and sexual desire.

"Company?" asked a baffled Voldemort. Absentmindedly he cursed his lot in life, if he had a real body, he could've massaged his brows, that helped when dealing with bizarre turns of conversation, Voldemort knew from experience.

"My company." Barty coughed as to clear his throat. "Says wizards who like wizards should stick together."

"I see," exclaimed Voldemort. There wasn't much one could say to that, was there? "Doesn't he have... friends... to you know?" He really felt uncomfortable now. Luckily he hadn't any competition when it came to being a Dark Lord, he could readily imagine a conversation between two like him. 'What's this I hear, my man? Giving relationship advise to your followers now? Never should've feared you if you're doing that.'

"He doesn't like his friends, My Lord," Barty answered. He too was glad it only was his Lord and him.

Voldemort mentally frowned, since physically that currently was impossible. Potter was a strange kid; he'd been right all those years ago to try and kill the kid.

"Whatever," was Voldemort's intelligent answer. "If that appeases you, you have my permission."

A smirk graced Barty's face. "Thank you, My Lord."

"Concerning the plan," Voldemort changed the subject, "do you think something should be changed? It is unlikely Wormtail will be finished with the preparations until the Third Task of the Tournament."

\---

Harry Potter dived into the lake for the Second Task, his body accommodating the changes brought forth by Gillyweed. Like a fish in the water, he swum to the location the hostages were being held, avoiding Grindylows and other strange water creatures for the most part, shouting of a curse when the situation arose itself. Voldemort had agreed to his proposal, something which relieved Harry. While it mightn't seem a smart thing to do, teaming with a feared Dark Lord such as Voldemort, Harry didn't care. There was some value to what Voldemort promoted, it was the approach Voldemort and the Death Eaters used that would never work. Most people could care less about a tightening of the Secrecy Act and a smoother running Ministry, as long as they could continue living their lives without too many interruptions. If the right strategy was used, there hardly would be any protest, nor would there be much of an underground resistance.

Harry wanted to avoid a situation where Unforgivables were used randomly or even anything alike the rise of the Third Reich, especially in a world where magic was something precious. That wasn't the sole reason for offering his help to Voldemort though. He disagreed with Dumbledore's hopes of Harry becoming a kamikaze in order for Voldemort to be killed; Harry never believed in the fairy tales Dumbledore hoped Harry to believe in. While he appreciated the gesture of birthing him and sacrificing themselves, Harry didn't hold much emotional attachment to the legacy of his parents, in the same way he lacked any true connection to his year mates. His 'talent', the truth, made it impossible for Harry to be a kid when he was a kid and gave him a more mature perspective as a teenager. The hormones did a fine deal on destroying the equilibrium Harry constructed as a child though. The truth was a real curse in that aspect, letting him experience a myriad of other people's sexual desires above his own wants. It was one of the main reasons Harry sought Barty Crouch out; the man would be the perfect person to smooth the edges of his talent, while at the same time furthering his goal concerning the wizarding world.

Harry ducked under a stone archway, appreciating the view of the merpeople's village before swimming over to the place the four hostages were enchanted in a weird coma and attached to the bottom of the lake by a rope. Seeing who he presumed to be his dearest friend, Harry couldn't help but let out a laugh. If Dumbledore and the other judges thought Harry held any attachment to Ron Weasley they should really consider a career change. Ron Weasley, in Harry's opinion, was an idiot. While not unintelligent per say, the redhead really tried to be. The youngest male Weasley was a fine example of what Harry disliked in humans: jealous to a fault, lazy, ugly and one of the first to abandon his comrades in times of trouble if no positive encouragement was used. He was a good substitute for a companion to pass time, Harry had to admit. Harry in general disliked redheads, but most of them managed to amuse him dearly one way or another.

Giving the underwater equivalent of a sigh, he cast the cutting curse at the rope and dragged 'his dearest friend' to the surface easily, ending up first. He remained in the water for another ten minutes, letting the Gillyweed fade away, before emerging from the water himself. The people surrounding him didn't interest him at all, but it was something he couldn't escape easily.

That night, the Fat Lady guarding Gryffindor Tower opened and closed seemingly from itself, a quiet shuffling of feet marching towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts Office, where an invisible hand knocked on the door. It was one o'clock in the morning.

The door opened slowly, a dark brown-haired man in his early thirties looking cautiously.

"Potter?" questioned the man.

"Call me Harry," the disembodied voice said.

The man opened the door completely.

"Enter," he murmured, closing the door after a couple of seconds. He turned around. He didn't need to ask what this was about, didn't feel much like objecting. Excitement started working his way through his body. He had never done this, male with male sex, but dreamed of it enough to know something about it.

An invisibility cloak fell to the ground, revealing Harry still in a robe.

"Do you have some more private quarters, Barty?" Harry asked.

Barty nodded and gestured Harry to follow. They stepped to the other side of the room, where Barty tapped several bricks, much like the entrance to Diagon Alley, revealing a bedroom. A comfy king-sized bed was in it, dark blue sheets covering it.

Barty walked to the right side of the bed. He pulled his robe off. Barty only wore underwear beneath his robes, a sight which Harry liked. The younger wizard gave Barty a thorough look, before shrugging his robes off himself. In contrast to Barty, Harry was stark naked. It didn't take long for both of them to be naked. An awkward silence filled the room until Harry got out of his daze and approached Barty, hugging him. Eventually Barty hugged him awkwardly back.

"What do you want to do, Pot- Harry?" Barty asked.

Harry looked at his... lover, a needy look in the formers eyes. He didn't speak, but pushed Barty softly on the bed, kneeling in front of the older man.

"This," said Harry, leaning closer to the man's crotch.


	3. Origins

  
Author's notes: Harry's motivation.  


* * *

Bright blue light flashed repeatedly in the room, the rhythm by which it flashed increasing in speed and intensity, eventually rousing the two inhabitants of the room. Magical alarm clocks existed in various types: some simply imitating Muggle alarm sounds, others flashing light on the set time, while Zonko's alarm clocks could produce miniaturized dragons made of light, the accompanied dragon's roar included. To Barty Crouch, being woken soundlessly worked best and immediately put him in the right state of mind – that of constant vigilance. It shouldn't be a surprise then that the first thing Barty did that morning was reach for his borrowed wand and aim it at the unexpected person in his bed.

Several seconds later saw a wand laid down on a night table and Barty shaking Harry gently awake.

“Potter, wake up,” Barty said. That night had been the first night he allowed Harry in his bed, though the boy had been coming to his private quarters regularly for several weeks already. It meant a certain evolution in their relationship, if you could call what they had going on that. There wasn't much time that allowed to converse during regular life, Barty had to pretend to be another, while Harry had to 'socialize' with his class mates to keep up appearances of being someone people expected him to be. The time they spent together mostly was filled with more sexual acts. To Harry it meant temporary release of 'regular' life, to Barty it meant catching up on what he previously missed and be himself. Seeing the Boy-Who-Lived on his knees before him was an exhilarating image, returning the favor strange yet wonderful. As far as business arrangements went, Barty thought none even got close to being as beneficial as the one Harry and Barty had.

“Mmm,” moaned Harry, unwilling to lose whatever precious sleep he had. Sleeping with two in one bed wasn't all that pleasant as he imagined, the image of two persons sleeping peacefully in each other's arms highly unrealistic. Whereas Harry was a quiet sleeper, hardly moving during his dreams, Barty was a trasher, sleeping as fitful as one could. Even if it probably was something that grew during Barty's time in Azkaban, Harry disliked it. When Barty was sleeping, Harry was fighting to maintain his side of the sheets and avoid being crushed by Barty's weight as the older man twisted and turned.

“You have to get up,” Barty continued, “before the morning rush to breakfast reveals you were here.”

Harry nodded, still refusing to open his eyes. “I know,” he murmured.

Barty pulled the sheets off them and rose, mentally going through the steps he took each morning before taking the Polyjuice. He grimaced, thinking of the classes he had that morning. Second year Gryffindors and Slytherins, a true menace, especially the interaction between fashion queens Romilda Vane and Rosa Winter, Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively. As far as he knew those two girls were in some kind of elaborate competition to garner the attention of Harry Potter – the image. Barty loved teaching, he really did, but he would be awfully glad when his infiltration would be over. Teenage romance just wasn't his thing.

By the time he left the bath room, 'Mad-Eye' was back in action and no sign remained of the most famous Fourth Year Gryffindor. Real life recommenced.

\---

It was a good thing it was a Wednesday, Harry considered, seating himself next to Hermione Granger. They only had Charms at ten o'clock, allowing him to have an easy morning and recuperate of last night. He always knew his submissive side reigned his sexual preferences, nonetheless that didn't mean Harry particularly cared for the 'afterglow' of having Barty inside him. It was, to use the term correctly, a pain in the ass Harry wasn't really used to. He couldn't help himself though; getting buggered was like flying to him: it unfocused his mind of a multitude of thoughts and impressions and gave him a damn fine kick/orgasm as well.

That is why Harry was one of the last students to leave the Great Hall that morning, why he was one of the lasts to arrive in the corridor of the Charms classroom and why he unintentionally heard his classmates gossiping about the supposed love triangle between Viktor Krum, Hermione and him. It was utterly ridiculous. He only hoped the Bulgarian Seeker wouldn't want to confront him now that most hate mail going to Hermione had decreased. Harry wasn't really interested in being in close quarters with his fellow Champion. Krum's breath stank.

Two hours and a quick lunch later found Harry reclining in a chair by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, trying to block out the 'information' filtering in from his fellow Gryffindors. It wasn't something he was very proficient at, trying to separate himself from the people surrounding him, but a necessity if he wanted to avoid a repeat of his first year, or even his second year, when the crowd of people in Diagon Alley and Hogwarts overwhelmed his senses and directed his course of actions towards the epitome of a knight: loyal, brave, sincere, impulsive, gullible. His behavior during those years wasn't whom he truly was, it was what people expected, wanted, him to be. It always took weeks at the Dursleys, where the wishes were unoriginal and sincerity a contradiction in terminus, for him to recover what he 'lost' at Hogwarts. It wasn't until last year, his third at Hogwarts, that he was able to consciously comprehend the influence of his gift on himself. Surprisingly, responsible for this change were the Dementors and their effect on Hogwarts' population; they curved his gift considerably, giving him the mental break needed to think of a 'master plan', his personal ulterior motives and opinions of various subjects, ranging from the wizarding separation with the Muggle world to the matter of the concept of the greater good. The end of that year and the subsequent attack by the Dementors and the escape of Wormtail shaped his master plan in what it was to this day – even if Harry sometimes forgot the grand scheme of things.

Despite Rita Skeeter's attempts to prove the contrary, Harry slowly retracted himself from his friendship with Hermione Granger as well as Ron Weasley. Their friendship was one originating from the time Harry's ratio went haywire, it wasn't something he longed to maintain longterm. They weren't whom he needed, hardly held any surplus value to him. In another life, maybe their friendship would have worked out – a life where he wasn't confronted with possibilities at every turn of the road, wasn't reminded of humans duplicity constantly.

Harry sighed. For some reason every time that Romilda Vane girl passed by, he lost his concentration and was left in an antisocial mood. There was something inherently evil about that girl that truly frightened Harry, but he couldn't point out what exactly. Not even Voldemort scared him as much as Romilda Vane; at least Voldemort was a logical being.

Harry shook his head, banishing nightmare-daydreams of Dark Ladies after his manhood to a faraway corner of his mind, and went to his dorm room to read further in 'Unspeakable: Truth In Myth', a Hogwarts library book written by Joan Stuart describing everything known publicly about the famed Department of Mysteries, less known facts and myths concerning the place. It was an intriguing book, written much better than any of Lockhart's books.

\---

“Why did you do it?” Barty asked, eying the younger wizard next to him curiously. It was the last weekend of Easter holidays and meeting up with each other became more and more difficult with the Third Task approaching. They were in Barty's private chambers – the only place in Hogwarts Barty felt comfortable and safe to drop his Moody disguise. At the moment, Harry Potter laid on his side wearing nothing but a thin silk night robe. Barty was on his back so he could watch the door and the large foe glass mounted on a closet next to the bedroom door; boxers were the only clothes he wore.

Harry glanced intently at his lover. It was a stupid gesture really, since he knew Barty could be trusted, but it didn't hurt.

“What do you know of the Muggle Second World War?” Harry asked.

Barty frowned. “Muggle Second World War? Isn't that the one stimulated by Grindelwald?”

Harry nodded. “It was, though Grindelwald's influence only restricted itself to influencing people like Hitler. The Muggles did the rest for him. One of the things the Muggles lead by Hitler did though was gather political enemies and Jews first in camps and prisons worse than Azkaban.”

Barty nodded slowly. The Ministry of Magic did the same thing when Death Eaters controlled it in the late seventies; send political opponents to Azkaban and torture information out of them. To hear that these camps were worse than Azkaban though... That frightened Barty, even if it strengthened his believe that wizards and witches were better than Muggles.

“Around six million people died in these concentration and eliminations camps, most of through starvation diseases and experiments,” Harry added.

Barty squirmed. There were only about sixty thousand wizards and witches in Britain last time he checked, six million was a number he could barely comprehend.

“Muggles have invented devices that work like Pensieves, showing what you might call recorded memories through a box with a window, televisions they call them. A lot of Muggles nowadays have these boxes. My uncle used to force me to sit in front of them and look at documentaries, recorded memories accompanied by a voice explaining the memories. Often they were the most terrible ones available, depicting the survivors of these camps. Men your age weighting thirty kilos, mass graves with dozens of bodies, ovens were they burned the bodies, chambers where they forced people inside and killed them by spreading a deadly gas,... Those images scared the most grown up men you could find, so I shouldn't tell you what kind of an impression they leave behind on a child. When a documentary was finished, my uncle would come into the room, sit beside me and tell me that people like me deserved to be in those camps, that it was a pity these camps didn't exist anymore, otherwise he would have sent me to one of them.”

Barty swallowed. He definitely had too much imagination. He could easily create an image for each of Harry's descriptions. Muggles, it seemed, were even more cruel than any Death Eater he knew. Besides Walden McNair perhaps, that man had a sickly interest in the bodies of the dead. And it wasn't to create Inferi.

Harry continued, his voice taking a distanced undertone. “The Dark Lord fears death, you fear not being in control of your mind, I fear ending up in a place alike these Konzentrationlager. The Dark Lord made sure his death could be prevented, you seek ulterior control over your environment. I'm taking steps in preventing a situation I fear might arise.”

“That's a justifiable reason,” Barty concluded, feeling slightly more at ease with his bed partner. It went against his nature to trust anyone aside his Lord, but trust was a two-way road and if Harry Potter trusted him with his secrets, then Barty felt he could trust Harry with his secrets – even if the major ones weren't really hidden.

Harry moved closer to Barty, his mouth edging closer to Barty's for a hungry kiss. Barty obliged. Harry moved his body so he was on top of Barty, Harry's hands wandering from the older man's hair to Barty's boxer shorts, stroking them passionately.

Barty grabbed Harry's night robe and put it off his lover. His hands wandered to Harry's back, clutching the Boy-Who-Lived's back.

“Can I ride you?” Harry breathed between kisses, taking Barty's manhood in hand. Barty didn't need any more encouragement. His boxers were quickly removed. The feeling of a dick near his own caused Harry to moan gratefully. A quick lubrication spell of Barty's wand swifted their lovemaking.

It was after all a human reaction, that of seeking confirmation of trust after a confession.


	4. Human After All

  
Author's notes: The Third Task and Voldemort's resurrection.  


* * *

"Everything is setup?" Harry asked Barty the night before the Third Task.

Barty nodded. "I will only need fifteen minutes to setup the Triwizard Cup tomorrow morning. I already carry my personal Portkey with me. Thank you, by the way, for reminding me to make one, I would have forgotten myself with all the excitement."

Harry smiled thinly. "I know."

"Will you remain with the Dark Lord after his resurrection or will you return to this place?"

"While I don't like this place," Harry frowned, "I don't think it would be wise to stay away. This Tournament is a highly publicized event, if I were to disappear during it, expect nationwide searches. Especially since Dumbledore is still hoping his little plan will succeed. I will ask him tomorrow."

Barty nodded. Either option held merit. "I will probably depart a couple of minutes after the Dark Mark starts burning; if you return to Hogwarts, can I pick you up somewhere on the second day of the holidays?"

"My relatives live in number Four, Privet Drive in Little Whining. What time do you think you could get there?"

"I will bring along an owl and send you a message when I'm near."

"Fine by me," Harry said, embracing the older man tightly. "Don't get caught," breathed Harry.

"I won't," Barty answered. "You sure you don't want my help during the Task?"

Harry smirked. "I'll tell you some of the interesting facts I learned since Easter when all of this is over. The only competition I really expect to be from would Krum's. Feel free to take over his mind if you really want."

"Wouldn't be hard," Barty reasoned. "He came in handy when dealing with my father."

"I should go," concluded Harry. "Attention is a bit too focused for our talk to be longer. See you soon."

"Be sure of it," Barty whispered into the empty room a couple of seconds later. He shook his head. The moment he'd been working for was approaching. Soon his Master would be revived. Soon he could drop this Moody disguise forever.

\---

Harry ran into the maze, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand. The high hedges, mist and dusk made it difficult to see, but Harry was attuned to darkness. Many hours of sitting in his cupboard with only a light bulb whose switch was located outside the closet did affect his growth. Even at Hogwarts, he was more comfortable in darker corridors. The cold breeze wasn't pleasant, but nobody ever said the Triwizard Tournament would be easy.

The hedges moved, Harry barely made it before they closed. He was about to go on, when a gigantic shadow fell upon him. Turning around, he was greeted by the sight of a ten foot long scorpion-like creature. A full grown Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry sighed. Maybe he should have accepted Barty's help.

The hybrid of a manticore and fire-crab was a fearsome animal, except for its belly, it could withstand any magical and non-magical attack. The Skrewt blasted to his side and immediately started his attack. Harry jumped, stepped aside and bend his body in an uncomfortable position. For a hybrid creature, Blast-Ended Skrewts were dumb. Its underbelly was in plain sight. Harry cast an Impediment Curse, paralyzing the Skrewt temporarily. Harry ran into a corridor straight ahead. Halfway through it, Fluffy the Cerberus made a reappearance into Harry's life. Harry made Fluffy sleep by transfiguring a twig into a flute and awkwardly play a melody on it. The next object blocking his way was a scroll of parchment filled with questions he had to answer in order to go further. The quill used blood as ink, but Harry ignored the scratches appearing on his left hand. Injuries caused by a hot pan hurt more than them. It took a couple of minutes for him to find all the answers though Harry was glad he read extensively about wizarding myths and legends.

A monolith blocking another corridor ended up being transfigured into a five foot long statue of a cobra with raised head. The last obstacle was a sphinx.

"Can I hear the riddle?" Harry asked. He had heard Fleur let out a scream and had no doubt Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory would be dealt with accordingly by Barty. The Cup was near.

"First think of the person who lives in disguise,  
"Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies."

"A spy?"

"Next tell me what's always the last thing to mend,  
"The middle of middle and the end of the end?"

That had Harry stumped for a moment. "D?" answered Harry finally.

"And finally give me the sound often heard  
"During the search for a hard-to-find word."

"Er...Er?"

"Now string them together, and answer me this,  
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"

"Spider," breathed Harry. He had a feeling the sphinx just told him a hint of what was to come.

He ran straight ahead, through the fog he saw the Triwizard Cup blinking. Masculine screams emitted from a different corridor, but Harry ignored them. What Krum and Diggory did to each other weren't his affairs – even if Barty orchestrated them. Warily he approached the Cup. His suspicions were proven correctly when an acromentula jumped in front of him making clutching sounds.

He wasn't an inexperienced Second Year anymore though, he knew a lot more hexes, jinxes and curses now. And spiders feared Basilisks. Harry spoke Parseltongue.

_"Run before I kill you, filthy animal, "_ Harry said, _"Fear me like you fear the King of Snakes, for I conquered your enemy."_ Maybe it was over the top, but Harry didn't care. Harry really despised spiders whose legspan reached twelve feet.

The effect was immediate, where the acromentula previously posed to attack, it now cowered in fear. It mightn't understand the words Harry spoke, but the threat and intent was clear. Harry stepped forward. The overgrown spider scurried aside and left as soon as he could. He took the Cup and experienced Portkey travel for the first time in his life. It was a peculiar feeling.

\---

The graveyard he landed in was eerily quiet, fog obscuring most tombs, the old abandoned Riddle house to which the family graves belonged fitting nicely into the décor. It was terribly cliché in some aspects, but Harry supposed any ritual having to do with death performed better in an area of the dead. Harry stood still and straight, his wand held closely to his body, waiting for the arrival of Peter Pettigrew and Lord Voldemort. He didn't have to wait long for whispers to be heard.

"I have heard some interesting things of you, Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort's temporarily high-pitched voice exclaimed. Pettigrew entered the small clearing carrying the baby-like body of the Dark Lord. Peter looked nervous.

Harry glanced at the two others, master and servant, and inclined his head. "Depending on whom your source was, I'm sure what has been said was mostly true."

"Then you will join my cause fully?"

"The world out there is changing," Harry answered, "despite several opinions you have, I agree with your general stance. When you have regained a body and adjusted to your situation, I would like to discuss several things with you. The nature of our relationship is a peculiar one that needs explanations about possibilities and limits."

Voldemort glanced at his Animagus servant briefly. "I see where you and I meet. We will arrange a meeting later on."

"There is a reason I let you live, Pettigrew," Harry affirmed. "Can we begin?"

"Of course, Harry," Peter confirmed, more assured the younger wizard held no malice towards himself. He turned his attention to the large cauldron boiling at the side of the clearing. "In the original ritual I was going to perform, blood forcibly taken of an enemy, you, was the second step. Since the Dark Lord announced your allegiance several months ago, I have been working on an adjustment to the rite. If I'm correct this adjusted ritual should work better. The second step still needs your blood, but it will have to be willingly given."

"I expected something along those lines," Harry murmured thoughtfully.

Peter put the frail form of the Dark Lord in the cauldron and summoned some bones whilst commanding: "Bones from the father, you will revive your son."

The substance in the cauldron burbled and boiled. A knife was handed over to Harry, Pettigrew holding out a vial to catch the blood. Harry cut the palm of his right hand swiftly and held it above the vial. Seven drops of blood went in.

"Blood of the equal, you will revive your adversary." The added blood made the mixture glow blood red. Pettigrew then took a larger and sharper knife, positioned it above his left hand and performed the last step of the ritual: "Flesh of the servant – willingly given – you will revive your master." And Pettigrew's hand thumped into the cauldron. Harry stepped back, as did Pettigrew. Steam was rising from the cauldron, the blood red glow grew brighter, liquid boiled over. Half a minute passed by in silence, both men entranced by the magic at work.

The glow disappeared and the steam blew away, leaving behind a pale, bald figure of six feet two inches with dark red eyes.

"My robe, Wormtail," the Dark Lord ordered. Pettigrew bowed briefly before scampering off in search of Voldemort's clothes. A naked Dark Lord wasn't really an intimidating sight. Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron, regarding Harry curiously. Harry in turn looked extensively at Voldemort. In his daze Harry stepped closer, giving into his 'truth' instincts and rose his hand to touch the Dark Lord's face. Voldemort let him. That boy carried a piece of his soul after all, no wonder he was acting strange.

Harry withdrew his hand. "Human after all," Harry concluded. It seemed that beside his eyes, the Dark Lord wasn't influenced terribly by feeding of Nagini's milk for over a year. Even his nose resembled the one of Tom Riddle.

Voldemort didn't get much time to answer, because Pettigrew arrived carrying a black hooded robe and his wand. Voldemort took it reverently, like a dream come true. His temporary body hadn't been able to carry it. He gestured it at the place where Peter's left hand used to be and created a silver new hand.

"Consider that my gift to you as thanks for your service this past year." Pettigrew bowed deeply. "Now, Mr Potter, what am I to do with you? You offered your service in trade of two things, your life and companionship, but I cannot give you my Mark, can I?"

Harry smiled faintly. "I believe you already gave me a mark when I was a toddler, one with far more reaching consequences than any tattoo you could give me."

Voldemort inclined his head. "True. How did you discover?"

"That, I believe, belongs to that meeting we need to set up."

Voldemort wanted to know, wanted to be sure no deception went on, but he was a patient man – and he felt the presence of a piece of his soul. in the younger man. It probably was for the best only the two of them knew the complete truth.

"What was Barty planning to do?" Voldemort continued their conversation. It was best these technicalities were dealt with before he sent for his Death Eaters.

"He has a Portkey on his person that he will use several minutes after the Dark Mark starts burning. He also charmed the Portkey to return to Hogwarts, should we agree to go through with that."

"What would you do should you return to the castle?"

"Tell them Death Eaters turned the Cup into a Portkey in order for them to perform a ritual to bring you back to life, but that they failed and I escaped in the aftermath."

"And what of your friends?" Wormtail spoke up.

Harry shrugged. "They aren't my friends, though they once were. They are human, I am wary. I think I've been doing an excellent job at bringing my friendship with them to a more professional level."

Voldemort nodded approvingly; why waste time with silly emotions when there was more at stake?

"I will join Barty in Crouch Manor from the Fifth of July onwards, any time after that is fine for a meeting. I will probably accompany Barty a couple of times when you send for him."

"I find that an agreeable proposition," Voldemort said. "Is there anything I should be aware of or should do before I sent my followers?"

"There is," Harry said. "If you can do it, avoid sending for Snape and call him separately to you. His allegiance lays with my mother, not with you or Dumbledore, so he will need some working."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, before clearing his head. It wouldn't do for him to act out rashly with his followers. He needed each of them for his plans after all.

"Barty might have mentioned Karkaroff as a lost cause, I'm not sure. He betrayed a lot of people in the 80s in order to save his own ass, which should be reason enough to kill him. He is in an interesting position though being Durmstrang's headmaster. All I'm saying is that you should consider your options carefully. Only Barty and the Lestranges confirmed their loyalty to your cause, the rest turned tail and hid. Now onto the next subject, I need you to put me under the Cruciatus Curse for a while."

Voldemort frowned. "I assume this is to prove a point when you return to Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. "And to allow you to let lose some of that excess energy of yours."

_"Crucio!"_ Voldemort cast. He held Harry under it for fifteen seconds before breaking the connection. A trembling Harry rose from the ground.

 

"That hurt," Harry concluded, watching his fingers trill.

Voldemort looked closely at the younger wizard before reaching a decision and conjuring a black hooded cloak, an aluminium skull mask joining it. "Wear these. Wormtail, your arm."

Harry clasped the cloak around his neck carefully and put the mask on his face. It felt weird, wearing a physical mask, especially a metallic one. Harry understood its purpose though: if nobody knew who their fellow Death Eaters were, the Death Eaters remained an unknown entity. Knowing of each other proved to be fatal during the trials in the early eighties, some only escaping by claiming to be under the Imperius Curse, a favored method of the Death Eaters to control key elements of the Ministry of Magic.

It took up to ten minutes for about thirty wizards and witches to arrive wearing their Death Eater cloaks; they quickly aligned themselves in a circle around Voldemort and bowed low for their Lord. Harry himself joined the circle, carefully checking each individual's state of mind. A lot of them were in their twenties and thirties when the Dark Lord fell and now had children attending Hogwarts, their goals had to have changed over the years. Surprisingly though, each person still held faith in their Lord, some even appreciating Lord Voldemort's effort in organizing a reformation better, having attempted to continue the Dark Lord's legacy, Lucius Malfoy being one of them.

"Almost fourteen years ago I made a terrible mistake," Voldemort began, "that I have come to regret several times when I was nought but a spirit. I strode to immortality where others only took steps and I forgot that when you march, when you run towards something, there's a greater chance of tripping. I fell and helped myself to stand once more. Nevertheless years of possessing Muggles and animals out of survival went by without seeing one of you. And while my loyal followers in Azkaban have an excuse, none of you have. It took a man pushed into a corner, frightened to death, and a loyal servant breaking free from the strains put upon him by his father before I could set in motion a plan to get my body back. Where were you, Goyle, when your lord needed you? _Crucio!_ Or you, Nott? _Crucio!_ I will not be merciful a second time, and that counts for every one of you!"

A quiet thud behind him made Harry turn his head. It was becoming clear that while Voldemort was a ruthless man that didn't care for a lot of sentiment, he was surprisingly lean towards his followers. The arrival's eyes looked at the scene in front of him briefly, searching. When the Death Eater glanced in Harry's eyes, a brief nod confirmed each others identity. Alastor Moody's imposter had left Hogwarts permanently. Barty chose to stand next to Harry.

"As you can see, my plan has worked," Voldemort continued, indirectly addressing his followers' confusion concerning Harry and Barty's anonymous presence. "I have gained a new body as well as a new addition to the Death Eaters. Until you have proven your loyalty however his identity will remain a secret. Over the following weeks, I will call each one of you separately so you can tell me what you have done for our cause and what actions we might take to further it, before we hold a complete meeting. You might notice the absence of several among you; those who publicly betrayed me and those that need to be reminded that I am their master. They will be dealt with. After tonight you will probably hear stories of how some Death Eaters tried to revive me using Harry Potter, but failed. I needed Harry Potter for the ritual Wormtail performed, so I Obliviated him and made him think so. Nobody except you, my servants, know that I am back. As long as they don't, we hold an incredible advantage. Now go and think carefully about your lot in life."

When all followers except Barty and Wormtail had left, Harry took off his mask. "They are going to be looking for signs of a Memory Charm if show up claiming I don't remember," said Harry.

Barty nodded. "What do you want to forget? Those dokumanties?"

Harry shook his head. "Those helped me be whom I was today. I'd rather you remove my memories of Halloween 1981."

"You remember that night? Peculiar," Voldemort questioned.

"Or not," Harry answered. "It mustn't necessarily mean that I remember them, but..." Harry paused for a moment. Why hadn't he thought about it earlier? _"They were the last moments the soul piece held in mine really lived, which seems a more logical explanation then them being mine."_

Barty glanced between his lover and his master contentedly. Following Harry and Voldemort's plan proved to be a major success.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Barty asked.

"I am."

" _Obliviate!_ You can't remember Halloween of 1981 anymore, though you know that your parents died and something happened between the Dark Lord and yourself."

Harry frowned. "That's strange." He shrugged his shoulders. "I should return to the castle. It's already been an hour since I left."

Voldemort paused his observations. "I will talk to you on the fifth dusk of the next moon cycle. There's a lot I need to be told it seems. _If I discover you lied to me, not even Merlin will be able to save you_."

Harry inclined his head to show he understood. He addressed the Animagus of the rather odd group of wizards: "The past is history, start to live in the present." To Barty he smiled faintly: "I'll ask Winky if she wants to return, last I heard she was very loyal to her master." Harry unclasped his new cloak, folded it, placed his mask upon it and carefully gave it to Barty, before casting a whirlwind of spells upon his person. By the time Harry touched the Portkey, he looked exactly like a wizard escaping the clutches of several frustrated fools.

The Dark Lord observed his remaining servants carefully. Wormtail obviously took pride in the words spoken to him by the Boy-Who-Lived, like a young child wanting attention, while the Potter heir obviously earned Barty's trust. It was an interesting experience that made him aware that Potter would have made a dangerous enemy were the circumstances different.

"He's different," Wormtail noted.

"Nay, he's grown up and starting to show his true character," objected Barty.

"If he always was like this, then why did he stop me twice before?" Voldemort questioned.

Barty seemed to realize who his company was. "Well, er, I didn't mention this before, my lord, because I didn't understand it well enough, but you have to know that Harry Potter is something like an oracle in ancient Greek civilization. He doesn't see into the future or even the past, but he knows the present. His Inner-Eye you might say, knows every person's intentions, desires and, if spent enough time near him, their whole character. It works constantly on a very subconscious manner; when he entered Hogwarts he was overwhelmed. Took a while to get out his funk, Harry says. He described it to me and well I researched it thoroughly in my spare time. He differs of the Greek and even Egyptian oracles in that he acts upon his knowledge instead of handing out advise and hasn't learned any set way to deal with his talent."

If Voldemort had eyebrows, they would've reached new heights. That tidbit of news could be very important indeed.

"In the future, I don't want you to withhold such information anymore, do you understand?"

"I won't, my lord," Barty meekly said.


	5. The Game Is Afoot

  
Author's notes: Harry arrives at Hogwarts, goes to Crouch Manor and has a conversation with the Dark Lord.  


* * *

**Chapter Five – The Game Is Afoot**

Harry's knees gave away when he landed in the clearing in front of the maze, the Cruciatus Curse having weakened his physique. He stretched out his hands to prevent himself from falling to the ground, as well as trying to subconsciously push the presence of hundreds of people away from his senses. The latter failed; excitement and confusion washed over him, as well as some people's greed – the winner of the Tournament received thousand Galleons after all – and several other shady desires.

A number of people entered his comfort zone, a circle of about three feet around him, making him feel more violated and disgusted. Dumbledore, Fudge, they belonged to the creepiest people ever encountered, their desires and emotions capable of suffocating his conscious the worst. Dumbledore hoped the Dark Lord had risen again, apparently he enjoyed playing 'chess' against, while Fudge was even now looking for opportunities to secure his position as Minister of Magic.

"Death Eaters," whispered Harry, "trying to bring back their Lord." Diversion number one, Harry's analytical side counted. He coughed harshly, finally giving way to the effects of the Cruciatus Curse; that it supported his story was a calculated advantage. He let his body shake subtly.

"They failed, didn't they?" Fudge frightfully asked.

Harry shook his head. "Don't know... Can't remember... Hurts so much..." He let his body slump slightly. "Can't remember."

He allowed himself to blank out and his impressions to wash over him. People whispered his words over to others and murmured with each others. He refused to pay attention to them until someone called out Poppy Pomfrey's name, who pushed her way to the crowd gathering around Harry. With thinned lips and a worried expression she spoke to him, asking about the places he hurt.

"Everywhere," breathed Harry, "my back, my arm."

"Do you recall what they did?" questioned Pomfrey.

"Cruciatus," Harry answered, "don't know what's wrong with my arm... It bleeds."

Pomfrey's expression sterned. "You need to be in my infirmary. Can you walk? No, of course not." Looking around for a strong man, she found one. "Hagrid! Can you carry Mr Potter here to my infirmary?"

The half-giant rushed over and gently lifted Harry into his arms.

"A'right the'e Harry?" Hagrid asked.

"Fine, just fine," Harry responded.

Hagrid smiled sadly. "Ye'll be okay, Harry, ye're a strong lad."

Harry rested his head against the taller man's chest, taking Hagrid's essence. After experiencing the scary impressions of Dumbledore and the lonely, determined feeling accompanying Voldemort, Hagrid's essence was a bliss – a less complex man Harry had never encountered.

In the privacy of the infirmary, Pomfrey cast a sufficient amount of spells and charms designed to detect any physical abnormality. Hagrid left the room at a significant glance from the Healer, after which Pomfrey opened several cupboards, finally returning to Harry's side with a bottle of vile looking potion.

"Drink this Mr Potter," she ordered. "It will help your nerve system recover after that nasty curse."

Harry obediently downed the potion, handing back the vial. Pomfrey took a seat on the bed next to the one Harry lay in and cleared her throat subtly. Harry gave his attention to the nurse.

"Mr Potter, Harry," she began, "during my checkup I discovered several things. There are signs that you have been Obliviated and well, I don't know how to say this, but I suspect that you were raped."

Harry blushed. Perhaps Barty and he had been a bit rough that morning, but it wasn't like he could say that to an employee of Dumbledore, couldn't he?

"What makes you think so?" Harry meekly asked. It might be wise to take caution in the future.

"Well, your anus shows sign of bleeding and a clumsy attempt at healing."

Harry went silent, so Pomfrey let him to his thinking. It must be a frightening experience, learning you were raped but can't remember it.

\---

Barty Crouch, wearing another temporary disguise, this time of an unknown Muggle, stepped off the Knight Bus relieved that nobody on the bus had been suspicious of his appearance and his destination, Little Whining, Surrey. While he was a master at Apparition, he wasn't familiar with this area of Great Britain and he felt it was better to be safe than sorry, so he took the bus for the stranded. For absolute discretion, he had first Apparated to Trafalgar Square in London. Taking in his surroundings, Barty felt discomforted. He was in the town center of Little Whining and the houses in the streets leading to the town square all looked alike. Sure, the accents differed, some lawns grew flowers, others contained odd white chairs, but the structure was the same. Why Muggles liked this, Barty would never know.

Barty spotted an old lady passing by, perhaps he could get some directions there?

"Excuse me, Ma'ame?" asked Barty. "Can you tell me where Privet Drive is? An acquaintance of mine lives there; he's been having troubles with his television and wanted me to have a look and see whether it could be fixed." Barty was immensely grateful for Harry's unintentional lesson in Muggle technology, he wouldn't have known another way to approach the old woman with a decent story.

"Television you say?" The woman nearly shouted. Apparently she had a hearing problem. "My son used to sell television, back in the fifties. It was after World War Two, you see, and televisions were a real luxury in those days. Sells vacuum cleaners door to door nowadays, a real shame I tell you!"

"Privet Drive, Ma'ame, I'm looking for Privet Drive," Barty repeated a little louder.

"Privet Drive? Well then, you're in luck, young man, I live there! Now be a dear boy and carry this bag for me, will you?"

So that was how Barty Crouch found Privet Drive, carrying a shopping bag and listening to a retired housewife telling stories of her son and how he ended up divorced and in hospital with a stroke. Barty praised Merlin when she entered her house, number Fifteen, after offering him a cup of tea for the sixth time.

Carefully checking the house numbers, it didn't take long for him to reach number Four. He'd said to Harry he would bring along an owl, but in his haste to leave that morning, he forgot to bring one. So he rang the bell, introduced him as Brian Burke and asked for his partner. He didn't enter the house, instead preferring to wait outside. Harry quickly came down, carrying his trunk. The woman with a close resemblance to a Threstal asked something, looked at Barty inquiringly, before nodding and heading out to the kitchen. Barty helped Harry carry his trunk to a park not far from the house before shrinking it and Side-Along-Apparate Harry to the outskirts of Blackpool, where Crouch Manor was located.

Barty showed Harry around the Manor before showing him the master bedroom Barty claimed his. The invitation was very transparant.

Harry embraced Barty and gave him a thorough kiss.

"I've missed you," Harry murmured.

Barty pecked Harry's nose. "I missed you as well. How was Hogwarts?"

Harry grinned mischievously. "Pomfrey, and by extension the rest of Hogwarts, is under the impression the Death Eaters that kidnapped me raped me and that's the reason they Obliviated me."

Barty snorted lightly. "I didn't read that part in the Daily Prophet yet."

"I'm sure word will go out eventually," commented Harry. "Dumbledore was disappointed though, he was looking forward to starting up his game of chess with our lord."

Barty smirked. "Then he'll be surprised to be checkmated soon enough."

"There are plans in motion?"

"Feeble plans really but it's a beginning. We're working on discrediting Dumbledore in the following year while we move our people to the important places."

"When is the Dark Lord coming?"

"Tomorrow evening."

"Then we have sufficient time to catch up."

"Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

"The usual, you know, a bit of kissing, a bit of rubbing."

"And a bit of fucking?"

"Making love, Barty, not fucking. There's a difference."

"Really? I didn't know you laying under me, moaning and wriggling your arse in my groin falls under the category of 'making love'."

"Well, now you know."

\---

"Good evening, my lord," Barty greeted, bowing slightly out of respect. "And welcome to Crouch Manor."

"I must say I never imagined myself being welcomed in the house of your late father," Voldemort replied.

"I didn't either," Barty supplied, "but I'm glad I can. Please, enter the parlor and take a seat, my house-elf will bring you a drink. Do you want me to fetch Harry?"

"That is right, young Potter resides with you these days, you may call him over."

Voldemort observed his surroundings; the parlor was a room with a sober interior consisting of four leather chairs situated around an empty fire. Above the fire hung a portrait of a Crouch ancestor, a straw-blond man in his sixties or seventies with a big round nose. Other than that, the walls were bare. Voldemort chose the seat with the best view of the door to the parlor.

Several minutes later, Voldemort was nursing a glass of brandy when Harry Potter entered, Barty Crouch having said something to the younger wizard before heading off to another part of the Manor.

Harry took the seat opposite Voldemort and asked Winky, the rehired house-elf, for a butterbeer.

"You have your cloak and mask back?" Voldemort questioned.

"I have. Why silver though?"

Voldemort smiled. "Because I could; before me, conjuring silver was considered to be an impossible feat."

"That's reasonable, I suppose."

"What do you know of Horcruxes?"

"They're pieces of a soul stored in an object, or like my case or Nagini's, inside a living being. In order to create a Horcrux, one has to murder. You had six Horcruxes: a diary, a ring, a cup, a locket, Nagini and me, though the creation of me was an accident."

Voldemort inclined his head briefly. "How did you discover the identity of them and what do you mean when say I had 'six'?"

"You mightn't know exactly, but you are linked to each of your Horcruxes. Given a lot of concentration, you are able to know where your Horcrux is, what it is made of,.. Everything really. Before Hogwarts, I had a lot of time on my hands, though I didn't know what exactly they were until my second year and this year.

"I feel I owe you an apology. Lucius Malfoy, whom at the time was a desperate man, gave your diary to a first year in the hopes of bringing you back to life. I still was a mess then, clinging to a personality I was not and keeping friends I now don't care a lot of. I destroyed your diary with the fang of the basilisk housed in the Chamber of Secrets."

For a moment, Voldemort felt like being angry, but it evaporated quickly. Fury did not bring back his Horcrux. Besides, looking back at his time at Hogwarts now and especially the time of his first Horcrux, Voldemort was kind of glad the diary was removed from the picture. It wasn't until the decades after his Hogwarts education that he learned some valuable lessons.

"And do you have any insight as to the influence my Horcrux has on you?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I know that several traits, like the ability to speak Parseltongue, has been carried over to me. I know that you are me, yet I am not you. I know that we are closely linked; that should all else fail, I would be able to revive you. It is a possibility for me to access your memories, like I briefly mentioned in that graveyard, though that seems to be very limited at the moment.

"I am not completely dependent on your existence, though living becomes more bearable when you live. It's also a given that I can't or won't address you as 'my lord' or 'master' to you, though I do so when I converse with Barty and will when I need to contact another Death Eater. I can't call you 'Voldemort' because of the taboo, it repulses me to call you 'Tom' or 'Riddle' and 'Marvolo' might remind you too much of your grandfather."

Voldemort nipped his brandy, thoughts swirling in his head.

"If we were to experiment with the Horcrux inside you, would that make you a more devoted follower, or more of an equal loyal to my cause and myself?"

"Perhaps my personal interest might be greater, though I sincerely doubt I could ever be as loyal to your figure as say Barty is. My abilities make that improbable. That doesn't mean I cast your beliefs and goals aside, but it implies that I can and will be more critical about them than others. Let me word it differently: you do not care about friends, don't trust people enough for them to be your friends, but the path of immortality you walk is a lone path. History has presented quite a unique situation where a part of you harbors inside another and if you can't even trust yourself, then why would you be trying to become immortal and change the world you live in into a world you want to live in? In order for me to survive, I need you alive and preferably well – and that's a whole different reason for becoming a Death Eater and aiding you than others have given."

Voldemort's red eyes searched Harry's face, looking for signs of dishonesty.

"There is more, isn't there?"

"There is," Harry considered, "I've researched you extensively, you know, trying to have as clear an image of you as possible. I know from firsthand experience that you were a twisted teenager frightened of death so much he sought out immortality. Once you found your solution, you started looking at the wizarding world and observed the evolutions happening in the Muggle world. Through Grindelwald's, and indirectly Dumbledore's, influence you saw what wizards and witches could do to Muggles and you witnessed the Muggleborn's reaction to that chain of events – the elimination of three quarters of Russia's magical community. You saw, just as I see right now, how dangerous wizarding and Muggle interaction has become, how the Secrecy Act gradually becomes more difficult to maintain as wizards and witches grow careless and Muggles become more advanced. It isn't comforting to know that the largest law enforcement troops of the Ministry of Magic are the Obliviators. One day Muggles will discover the secret to detecting the odd happenings magic causes and hell will break lose. I don't need to explain more.

"So you saw and decided to act. I know you tried to convince the Ministry in the late fifties, late sixties, but nobody listened, men like Dumbledore with peculiar thoughts about 'the greater good' ignored you because your ideas contrasted their opinion. When that didn't work, you tried to become a teacher at Hogwarts so you could convince the younger generations of the need to change, but that attempt was thwarted as well. Then you called the Death Eaters into life and tried to enforce changes, your methods were and are brutal, but effective. Unfortunately a lot of people that operated under your banner weren't as convinced as you are, were too young. That alongside your more private evolution caused your downfall, but you have learned since then, haven't you?"

"I have," the Dark Lord acknowledged. "Like you said, I tried one method, I failed, I tried another, it failed, I tried yet another and it failed. I only hope a fourth method works."

"And that is another reason you have my assistance," said Harry, "For you prevailed where others failed and I respect that, but there's only so much a man can bear - I want to be there for you if change remains a contradiction in terminus in the wizarding world."

The utter conviction resting behind those words convinced Voldemort of Harry's place in the world more than anything else. Like the younger wizard said, if you couldn't even trust yourself, what kind of life did you have? It was oddly comforting to hear those words spoken – never before had Voldemort had someone to watch his back like this, aside Nagini of course. He was curious though.

"And would you do if circumstances came to pass and I needed to be resurrected again?"

"Create your body and haul you far away from the wizarding world, for they would have lost their chance, and take you to a remote host suitable to live long and contentedly like the Dominican Republic or the remnants of the Mayan Empire."

Voldemort couldn't help it. He laughed. The idea of 'Lord Voldemort' lounging on a beach, cocktail in his hands, sun glasses on, was a very entertaining dream. People that didn't have a piece of his soul inside of them undoubtedly would have experienced the Cruciatus Curse by now.

Voldemort reached out his hand. "You can call me Marvolo."

Harry shook it firmly. "Then you may think of a name to call me in informal settings such as this."

"I will expect your compliance outside these rooms."

"As I have said," Harry answered, "I am you, yet you are not me. I am your friend and your servant, the observer and participant."

"Then we will be experimenting with that Horcrux."

Harry gulped down his butterbeer and rose out of his chair. "I have something to show you, I think you will appreciate it."

"What is it?"

"I am breeding a pair of basilisks," smirked Harry, "though I don't know how long it will take for the toads to breed the chicken's eggs decently enough."


	6. Conspiracy of One

  
Author's notes: Harry and Barty in a Muggle bar, Voldemort reflects.  


* * *

**Chapter Six - Conspiracy Of One**

"So what is it you wanted me to do in here?" Harry asked Barty. They were sitting in a drab looking Muggle pub in the center of Blackpool, two miles away from Crouch Manor and completely incognito though strangely without any privacy ward cast.

"Do you remember our agreement to explore your gift a couple of months ago?" Barty countered. "Well, consider this our first experiment. Last night I entered this place and put a Muggle under the Imperius Curse and gave it several instructions, one of them a command to return here around half past five in the afternoon. It's a quarter to six; I've already spotted it."

Harry glanced around, taking in the ten men sitting at the bar, drinking and telling each other the most outlandish 'scientific' theories; three retired couples eating cake; a teenage couple snogging in the back of the pub and a group of five students playing a card game while drinking Guinness and smoking Marlboro cigarettes. When he had a clear picture of his environment in his mind, Harry closed his eyes and let his focus wander each customer. The five boys, older than him really, were the most confusing of them all besides the females present.

Whether it was nature of nurture that formed the gap between genders, Harry didn't care, he only knew that he preferred to deal with men as they generally were less complicated to analyze. The quintet of card players seemed normal, their attention turned inwards to their little group of comrades. The bar tender, a middle aged gray-haired man didn't have any peculiar wants or thoughts, at least none that any other entrepreneur had.

The teenagers in the back were quite comical, the boy wanting to do more with the girl, but unsure whether his girlfriend would appreciate his desire, while the girl in question was hesitating between keeping the boy hers or dumping him, her primary school crush having found her an interesting lass. Human interaction, when not disgusting, was a funny phenomena.

Moving on, Harry felt like getting sick. The elder couple, at least seventy-five years old, with the woman wearing a vulture hat were on their weekly pancake outing. The very wrinkled woman was reminiscing the early years of her marriage and feeling very randy. The second retired couple, drinking coffee and eating apple cake, were a bliss in comparison, the passion of their marriage having died out years ago, while the last pair, recently retired people, were simply odd, but again felt normal.

It had to be one of the men at the bar then. Harry glanced at Barty, wondering what exactly his lover had ordered his Muggle to do. He hoped it wasn't something nasty like one of the unemployed kissing one of the pensioned. Harry shuddered briefly, realizing that Barty was mean like that.

With renewed suspicion, Harry recommenced his study. Those men were losers really, all of them unemployed and basking in their way of life - smoking, drinking, sleeping and consuming unhealthy amounts of fish and chips. Patrick O'Briann, the Harley Davidson fanatic of the bunch, was looking forward to the next episode of 'The Bold and the Beautiful', while Donahue Wickerson liked to walk around in a skirt in his apartment, despite being straight. Harry briefly feared for cities like Manchester or Liverpool where these people living in the margins of society supposedly lived in more quantity.

Daniel Smith on the other hand was peculiar, in that Smith felt like stripping in front of the elder. Harry focused on him more closely and concluded the experiment, having analyzed every person present. Relaying his censored findings to Barty, Harry felt far more normal than he ever had.

"It's that blond boy with the goatee playing poker, isn't it?" Harry ended his explanation.

Barty smiled. "It is. Can you tell me what I wanted him to do?"

"Cheat the game of course."

"What was the deciding factor?"

"I don't know whether I'm able to properly describe it. Some of these Muggles are as twisted as McNair when I first 'read' them, but it would be too obvious if you enchanted those - and I don't think your intention was for it to do so. There just was this distinct feeling of incorrectness twisted into that boy's erm... aura, I suppose. I really dislike those words used in Divination, you know, they imply too much that isn't, at least with me."

Barty nodded in thought. "That doesn't mean you should refuse to use them and try to complicate stuff easier said with simple words. I guess you also have the most important part of the Imperius Curse down."

"I have my suspicions, but I wouldn't mind to hear the expert speak."

Barty smirked slightly at the compliment. "Well, what I taught your class last year is true, it's just that the victim's reaction differs. You'll recall me telling that one of the methods to identify victims is by their slightly widened pupils? Well, that widening of the pupils only happens to people that fight the curse or radically disagree with the commands given to them. Like that girl in your class, don't remember who honestly, that imitated a squirrel, her eyes were as wide as you can get. She couldn't fight the curse of course, hardly anybody can, but she absolutely didn't want to act like a mutated rodent. If your victim is favorable to your agenda however, there won't be any signs. It's what we tried to do in the first rise of our lord and will recommence once our agents screened the Ministry thoroughly.

"If your victim is known to dislike Muggleborns and under your influence starts to support a harsh suppression of them, while without he would only keep on grumbling, people won't catch on as quickly. If I were to enchant Arthur Weasley and do the same however, they will notice. Of course with some of them it isn't even necessary to put them under it - makes putting the blame on someone a lot easier."

"It... makes sense. It puts the wizarding world in a different perspective; I mean what kind of society is it really? It proves my opinion of the world being a sorry place even more than I used to think."

"Yet so many wondrous things have been accomplished by wizards and witches: the pyramids in Egypt and America, the goblin tunnels in Siberia, the fallen tower of Babylon, the jungle complex of Congo, the ice cities of the Inuit,... I'm glad to live here and now and be part of what our lord foretells."

Harry smiled gently. "I know."

Barty sipped from his glass of Auxtin's Brandy, the favored drink of refined wizards. "Is our lord satisfied with your mutual project, the one involving that ring? I felt that excess of power in the parlor."

"You could say so. He and I are working on the finishing touch. Nagini will be accompanying him the next time; I'm quite curious how she is."

"Can you tell me the extent of what it is our lord and you are doing?"

Harry's eyelids fluttered briefly, a frown gracing his face, before he gave a brief nod and cleared his expression. Devoid of any emotion, Harry's expression was surprisingly firm yet gentle and to Barty held a demand of affection, lots of it.

"When we finish this, our lord and I will be able to live a very long life, more so than our lord already is. There aren't any written accounts of comparable situations but we make due of our knowledge and both of our abilities. There won't ever be a repeat of Halloween 1981 again."

"Excellent," Barty exclaimed, relieved to know his lord and his partner at least were protected of mundane problems like death.

Later that night, in the privacy of the master bedroom of Crouch Manor, Barty and Harry revered the presence of the other as much as they could. Months of trust and physical affection were affecting them, though they wouldn't yet call it love, rather a deepening bond of friendship.

\---

Lord Voldemort reclined in a comfortable chair in what used to be Karkaroff Manor, Nagini curled around in front of him, gazing at the portrait of Sergei Karkaroff, patriarch of the now extinct Russian family, but his focus on Sergei's mustache betrayed the absence of his concentration. Life since his rebirth had surprisingly been pleasant. His Death Eaters, at least most of them, were all taking preparations for the coup scheduled in a year time, the members of the Ministry of Magic subtly being checked. While he felt inclined to send a servant to gather his old allies, the giants, talking with Harry Potter had dissuaded him of that course. A giant attack would be a fitting opening move on the wizarding world, but the purpose of his quest was a complete separation from the Muggle world. Getting them confronted with giants wouldn't help that. Besides, if his servants could be believed, Dumbledore had restarted his Order of the Phoenix, despite there being no prove of his, Voldemort's, return. The Order wasn't capable of persuading the giants, but they probably were able to spy any Death Eater in their neighborhood.

The situation between Harry Potter and himself was interesting for sure, a simple form of companionship existed between them and the experiments with the human Horcrux were proving to be advantageous. By now Potter - Harry's loyalty was ensured and the connection between themselves settled - if he or Harry concentrated hard enough, they were able to relay a message. Mortality was even further from him than it was, Harry's loyalty insuring a quick resurrection, and as a Horcrux Harry was capable to keep a better eye on the other Horcruxes than he himself was. The experiments with Harry were also used with Nagini, ensuring that their little triumvirate formed the best unity of minds and soul in the world. Where one wasn't, another was and reliability on each other wasn't a feeling to avoid like a true paranoid anymore - a far cry from the first odd seventy years of his life.

Harry was returning to Hogwarts soon though, his absence from public life during the summer was bound to have repercussions, specifically from the side of the Order of the Phoenix. It would work out though and if it didn't, Harry could always return to Barty and work from the shadows like the other Death Eaters.

Voldemort smirked. Barty Crouch and Harry Potter, he still couldn't get it, but the depth of their relationship was noticeable, especially the few times Harry lost his equilibrium and drew Nagini and him in his mind. The last time it happened Harry was in the process of being taken roughly and Voldemort had to explain his snake companion why the young master was doing that ridiculous, ineffective attempt of procreation. Voldemort being himself and not understanding the concept of lovers completely had held a very entertaining and embarrassing conversation then, wonderful blackmail material if Harry ever acted too bold.

The news of a pair of Dementors on the loose in Surrey had been entertaining as well, especially if you knew that their mission was to Kiss Harry Potter there and ordered by that ugly Undersecretary of the Minister, Dolores Umbridge. That reminded him of his servants in Azkaban, they needed to be released one of these days, but how to go about it? And there still was that obscure prophecy Sybill Trelawney sprouted sixteen years ago, he needed someone to fetch it for him, if only to look at it with Harry and laugh at it. Having a semi-Seer, one of the real ones, near him was far more reassuring than the words of a fake.

Speaking of fakes, Voldemort's thoughts turned to his wayward servant, Severus Snape. It was a very delicate situation really. Loyal to a dead woman, in close quarters with Dumbledore, yet a Death Eater. Voldemort hadn't spoken with the man personally yet, but he had asked Harry to monitor Snape's reaction to several situations. It was a slow-going project, Severus' loyalties, but it wasn't as if Voldemort really needed the potion master. Wormtail proved to be an excellent brewer, probably something to do with examining the Weasley twins for years - from what Voldemort understood they were quite talented and creative. Maybe he should try to win them over to his side...

So many plans and possibilities, Voldemort rested his head against the chair and closed his eyes, just in time to see Harry climax under Barty. Voldemort massaged the bridge of his nose, he was not and never would be inclined to pursue men, but that boy was really testing Voldemort's patience. Orgasms really interrupted one's train of thoughts.

\---

Harry kissed Barty one final time before Apparating independently to a niche of the ninth platform of King's Cross Station, his school supplies in his Reducio'd trunk. Entering platform nine and three quarters, Harry immediately regretted leaving Blackpool. His fifth year was going to be boring - it was regrettable his first attempt at breeding basilisks failed failed, otherwise he would at least have someone, something, to communicate openly with. The Weasleys and Hermione were going to be curious and demanding, it would be difficult to separate himself from their presence in Gryffindor tower. The Slytherins in his year weren't really interesting either, what with Draco Malfoy leading them. That boy was pathetic, hadn't a backbone at all.

Glancing around each compartment of the Hogwarts Express, Harry finally settled for one containing a blond girl reading a wizarding magazine upside down. His instincts told him she was alright, so he sat down opposite her and got a book out of his trunk, shrinking his trunk back instead of putting it on the track provisioned for that purpose. It was a book written in Sumerian. One of the advantages of having access to Voldemort's knowledge was the ability to comprehend the native written language of Salazar Slytherin's ancestors. The tome was written in the sixteenth century by Isin Peverell, a direct descendant of the founder and described the family history before Salazar.

"You are Harry Potter," stated the blond girl after five minutes.

Harry glanced at her. Deciphering the oldest written language wasn't easy, even with all of Voldemort's knowledge of it. "I am. And you are?"

"Luna Lovegood. Be careful, there's a Nargle on your shoulder, don't let them steal your thoughts."

Harry frowned slightly. "Then I should be careful, shouldn't I?"

"Oh, you'll be fine, Nargles don't eat runes."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Luckily these are cuneiforms."

Silence descended upon the compartment, the atmosphere more relaxed now. Maybe fifth year wouldn't be as bad as he feared.


	7. Along Came A Spider

  
Author's notes: Ron confronts Harry, Harry confronts Dolores Umbridge, Severus Snape decides upon a course of action.  


* * *

**Chapter Seven - Along Came A Spider**

“Where have you been, mate?” Ronald Weasley asked the evening of the Sorting Feast.

“Out and about,” answered Harry. If there hadn’t been a defined pecking order at the Gryffindor table, the seventh years sitting nearest to the doors with first years nearer to the head table, Harry would have changed immediately. As it was, a confrontation of some sorts couldn’t be avoided.

“Dad says you never went to your aunt’s,” Ronald continued, obviously fishing for more information. “And Snuffles was worried sick. I sent you five letters and you didn’t even respond to them!”

Hermione Granger glanced at her red-headed friend, frowning. Five letters wasn’t much for a duration of two months. Of course she couldn’t send letters with an owl unless people wrote her first, not that she was overly worried. Summer had given her a lot of time to think and part of that time was spent considering her friends and her private and professional aims. Berlin had been nice as well, even if the capital of the Bundesrepublik Deutschland was one major construction site, the magical district of Berlin, connected with the wizarding side of Potsdam and Weimar, was a very educative experience - even her parents thought so. Ron’s parents had invited her to stay for a while as well, but after Ron’s horrible behavior and Harry isolating himself last year, she wasn’t inclined to grant them much leeway. If they wanted to remain best friends, Hermione had decided, they were going to have to give more than they tended to do. Hermione was tired of being used as a deus ex machina concerning the homework of her house mates. She had her O.W.L.s to worry about, after all.

“Then you’ll need to ask your father again, because I have been with the Dursleys,” Harry calmly retorted. “Granted it only was for a day, but that shouldn’t really matter, should it? I think I’ve been through enough to be capable of making my own decisions.”

“And what about your safety? Look at what happened during the Third Task!” Ronald exclaimed. By now most of the people present had turned their heads to watch the little drama queen act of Ronald evolve and hear Harry’s opinion as well. It wasn’t because they were interested of course.

Harry’s expression turned harsher. “I appreciate it when people keep their nose out of my private life, Ronald.”

“But I’m your best friend!” defended Ronald.

Harry shook his head slightly. “You once were, but you’re not anymore. Point is, I grew up one way and you’re still growing up another. I’m different, you’re different, whatever passes for a friendship between is different.”

Ron suddenly looked a little lost. “But we’re best friends. We saved the Philosopher’s Stone and Ginny, we beat dozens of Dementors and won the Triwizard Tournament, that signifies something doesn’t it?”

A wry smile appeared on Harry’s face. “That wasn’t a Philosopher’s Stone ‘we saved’, it was an alchemical stone that ages your body at a rate it can’t keep up. As for Ginny, yeah we searched for clues together and you accompanied me to just before the Chamber, but it wasn’t your life at stake, not your arm with a basilisk fang stuck in it, nor was it your essence leaving your body. Third and fourth year? I was the one who banished those Dementors and the one - except for Hermione - reading through most of the library for survival. I was the one kidnapped for some obscure ritual and tortured, not you. If you don’t realize that by now, you’ll only end up deluding yourself further. If you think we’re best friends, Ronald, consider this: when was the last time I confided in you? And I truly mean confiding, not this superficial banter necessary to satisfy our social needs. You’ll find that it’s been a long time now, somewhere during third year? Our world still spins around its ax, people advance.”

Hermione had listened as careful as she had to Dolores Umbridge’s speech earlier that feast and was satisfied to know her thoughts went in the same direction as Harry’s. Maybe her friendship with him could be taken to a more pleasant and healthy level.

“So how was the rest of your summer, Harry?” she inquired.

Harry focused on her, his eyes never leaving hers. “Quite alright, Hermione, learned a couple of interesting things and met some interesting people. Yours?”

“Germany was amazing!” she smiled. “If you ever decide to visit it, I recommend visiting Brandenburg Tower in Potsdam, it’s fantastic, and it’s the only magical skyscraper in Europe!”

Harry smiled gently. At least one less thing to worry about that year; a curious and bossy Hermione.

—

Blanking his facial expression, it was a stern Harry that entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, its current resident being Dolores Umbridge, who also functioned as Cornelius Fudge’s Undersecretary. It was the second day into the school year and for some obscure reason Harry already had a week’s worth of detention - that one Defense lesson he’d had the day before had been a real trial on his nerves and certainly not because of Umbridge’s shrill voice, her horrific clothing style or her irritating fake smile. Spending his summer in the presence of a Death Eater, a Dark Lord and a snake that ate humans as appetizers, Harry though he’d recognized evil as it was - Romilda Vane’s scariness discounted - but Dolores Umbridge made him rethink his previous beliefs and refine his worst fears. Umbridge was the perfect candidate for starting a Vernichtungslager, she had the good qualities of a torturer and apparently the wizarding world was dumb enough to hand give her a lot of power.

Harry casually let his hand drop in his pocket so that it clutched his wand. He had a feeling vermin like Umbridge needed to be put down urgently. He understood now why Lucius failed where Marvolo would succeed in overthrowing governments: the Ministry of Magic was filled with people of her kind, you needed to be a real bastard to squash your rivals.

Harry stared right into Umbridge, allowing his divination talents to dominate - the same way he analyzed the people in that bar in Blackpool. While what he saw merely was a confirmation of his previous observations, to do what he did usually caused his ‘victim’ extreme awkwardness.

“I think you need to be made aware of several things, Dolores,” spoke Harry harshly, while seating himself on Umbridge’s desk, “And one of them is that no matter how hard you might try, Hogwarts will never be yours to control. A second thing you have to remember, Dolores dear, is that in comparison with me, you are nothing but an irritating side-effect of what I want to accomplish. You don’t like the idea of being unimportant? Tough luck.

“Now I know you are probably thinking ‘what does this brat think he can do? I’m a member of the government’, well it’s quite easy. Give me a minute to demonstrate your new fear, well, it’s not like you can move or even object. Up until this moment you have been scared to death of half-breeds or even complete magical sentient creatures without being confronted with one, haven’t you? That’s right, Dolores, I know all of your little secrets - didn’t expect me to be absent of Little Whining, did you? From this evening onwards however every time you will even think of harming mine, there will be a punishment to be paid. I’ve been experimenting this summer, if you hadn’t realized, and I’ve come upon a very peculiar way to curse people. You believe in the trinity of mind, body and soul, I believe? Well, I’ve put a compulsion upon your soul - when you actively contemplate harming my person or those I consider mine, you will feel a very real emotional and physical need to copulate with a half-breed. Consider this as a word of caution: a body can be altered, a mind can be deceived, but a soul can’t. Now, I believe this should do for my detentions of this week, shouldn’t it? Have a pleasant evening and enjoy your week.”

Smirking slightly, Harry left the office. It took a couple of weeks during which Umbridge was suspiciously absent a lot of the evening, but the faithful Ministry employee returned with a vigor after it, focusing on Hogwarts staff and people she assumed were safe that irritated her. Of her rather negative mood towards the Boy-Who-Lived those first two days, nay word was spoken, though suspicious looks often came her way from Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore.

—

The wind blew hard the weekend before Halloween as the students of Hogwarts made their way to Hogsmeade, the only town in Great Britain absent of Muggles. The third years laughed and excitedly exclaimed their joy, while the fourth years already were more subdued, having grown accustomed to Hogsmeade visits.

Severus Snape followed the students, his sneer long vanished into a thoughtful frown as he contemplated his lot in life. It was a poorly drawn one if he was honest with himself. His childhood was a nightmare up until those last years where he befriended Lily Evans and taught her and himself the subtly art of potions and magic. His Hogwarts years could be best described as a sour smile; he’d found his niche, a raison d’etre, at Hogwarts: the development of Potions and the creation of some masterful spellwork. It also marked the end of his friendship with Lily and losing her to his suppressor, James Potter. The first five years after his N.E.W.T.S. weren’t exactly filled with joy either, though if he were honest with himself, up until the end of the Dark Lord’s rise they were the most wondrous years in his life.

Becoming a Death Eater gave him purpose, the feeling that he was contributing something to society. That ended when Sybill Trelawney prophesied for the first time in her life and Lily’s life became mortally endangered. Like so many, he had forgotten there were two sides to the Dark Lord’s aims: one promoting an advancement of the wizarding world, the other the selfish quest for immortality. That prophecy threatened both aims, something Severus hadn’t realized fully until Lily’s son survived a Killing Curse, his mother forever in the land of the dead.

Teaching at Hogwarts gave him a purpose again and Severus was grateful to Albus Dumbledore for that, even if the arrival of Lily’s son, James Potter’s spawn, blemished his latter career. Having a purpose, after all, wasn’t the same as accepting past deeds, lost opportunities and continue living life fullest. Professionally, Severus’s life was a success. Privately, Severus’s life was as messy as that day he called Lily a Mudblood.

Complications were arising though, mere months ago his Dark Mark had become black instead of the gray it had been for more than a dozen years: Lord Voldemort had returned. Severus however wasn’t summoned until the end of August. Considering the burning tingle a summoning accompanied, Severus couldn’t help but Apparate to his former master. To his great surprise, the Dark Lord was alone, if you didn’t count the scarily big snake of course. The conversation he had with the Slytherin heir then was a very confronting one, all of Severus’s cards having been put on the table and even now, two months later, Severus wasn’t sure where his secondary loyalties lay. He was bound by oath to Dumbledore to follow the elder wizard’s commands, unless those commands would dishonor the memory of Lily Evans-Potter. The Lily Severus knew however, could be quite vicious and secretive when she wanted to be, so it wasn’t as if she could make his decision any easier.

Severus entered the local apothecary, greeting the Richard LXVI, son of Richard LXV – the Richard who owned the store, politely. It never hurt to be friendly with your suppliers, especially those of potion ingredients. The Prince scion took the list of necessary ingredients out of his inner pocket and handed it over. When the staff of Hogwarts needed to buy something in name of the school, they needed to create a list, argue over it with the headmaster, or in the case of large purchases such as school brooms, the Board of Governors, before allowing the headmaster to sign it and put a wax seal with the school crest on it. It was a tedious thing to do as a Potions professor because there were ingredients not in stock on a monthly base, meaning that the Potions professor needed to go through the procedure ten times a year, but Severus actually preferred it like that. Rules and precautions were a necessity in a school of adolescent witches and wizards. Besides, Severus wouldn’t trust the ingredients bought by anyone else – who knew what kind of quality they could bring back.

Richard LXVI unsealed the list and read it through before going to the back of the store, where he needed to assemble Hogwarts’ recent purchase. During the wait, Severus stared at one of the rare ingredients in display, a runespoor’s venom, thinking about the Dark Lord, the world and animals in general. When Richard LXVI returned with a box full, Severus had an epiphany of sorts – or more like a realization: when snakes go into hibernation they don’t build a nest, they seek shelter. So when snakes start building webs, they would eventually fail. Only a spider prevailed in that task, for only spiders caught things in their webs.

The Dark Lord was nothing but a snake trying to simulate a spider, no matter how hard he tried and Severus, well, Severus liked spiders.

Clutching the box tightly in his arms, Severus returned to Hogwarts castle with renewed vigor. Let the Dark Lord spin his webs, Severus would be there when the snake failed.

—

Harry met Barty near the edge of Hogsmeade clandestine. They didn’t kiss or even hugged, even though they wanted to. Instead they traded news and made some practical arrangements in case of emergency, for Barty had been granted the great honor of going undercover again, this time parading as Guy Bloke, who worked in the Department of Law Enforcement directly under Amelia Bones. Guy Bloke lived in Ireland and was a completely different character than Alastor Moody, so it didn’t look like Harry and Barty would be able to spend much time with each other. As a precaution, Barty gave Harry a copy of his will, as well as giving Harry a sealed envelop containing the Crouch family signet ring, to be opened in case Barty was found out and given the Dementor’s Kiss or sent to Azkaban before being able to escape. It was with slightly widened eyes Harry accepted these items, knowing how much trust Barty placed in him. It was a feeling Harry enjoyed greatly. A couple of hours later, they parted ways. Harry joined Luna in the Three Broomsticks where they both read a book – Harry still working his way through Isin Peverell’s notes.

Reading about Slytherin’s roots was very interesting, even rehashed as they were by Salazar’s descendant, and made Harry wonder if one day he would visit the places the Slytherin clan had been – which was quite extensive, going from medieval Dover to the empire of Charles Quint, the early Maghreb, a flourishing Egypt, a poetic Persia and the grand Mesopotamian culture known only for its Sumerian and ancient lore of Abraham’s people. It might be a pilgrims tour worth doing if his ambitions and plans failed in Britain.


	8. Protect And Survive

  
Author's notes: Harry and Dumbledore have a conversation; Luna is curious and the Christmas holidays bring along a visit to an infamous island.  


* * *

**Chapter Eight - Protect And Survive**

"Mr Potter, who is Brian Burke?"

It was, all things considered, quite an innocent question on Albus Dumbledore's part though it did betray the headmaster's interest in Harry's private life for only a person that had questioned Petunia Dursley would have heard of Brian Burke, Barty's pseudonym when he went to fetch Harry that summer.

Harry closed his eyes briefly trying to focus his thoughts. When he opened them he analyzed his environment briefly – ones office said a lot about one's personality after all and while the headmaster probably arranged his office to create a certain effect, even that tidbit of knowledge said a lot.

'What will it be, honesty or deceit?' Harry asked himself. The answer to his internal question was quite simple and easily formed: he would be as honest as one had to be when deceiving another. It wasn't like the headmaster was that difficult to fool – it partly worked with Quirrel and it certainly worked during the whole of Harry's fourth year.

"Brian Burke, sir," Harry answered, "does not exist and even if he did, I do not think it is your business to inquire about him."

"Yet the welfare of my students concerns me greatly as a headmaster," Dumbledore countered. "Especially when they leave their guardians without permission and can't be accounted for if one of my teachers or I want to contact them."

"Yet I received my Hogwarts letter without any problem," Harry said.

Dumbledore hesitated slightly. He knew how to play the game, but it would have been easier if his student was more willing to answer questions. Harry considered it an advantage that his divination skills caused him to be a natural Occlumens – Occlumency was the art of protecting once mind and was more about adopting perspective and an egocentric attitude than it was about acquiring skills. Harry's nature complemented the idea of "the world versus I" well. If Harry was selfless or wanted to please others more, Occlumency would have been near impossible. It was this detached state of mind that made the Ministry of Magic ban the learning of Occlumency and the Department of Mysteries separated from the rest of Ministry – knowing Occlumency was required to be an Unspeakable and the importance of research was at the front of an Unspeakable's mind.

"You did receive your letter on time," Dumbledore acknowledged, "but aside my duties of Hogwarts' headmaster, I consider it my duty as the person who placed you with your guardians to ascertain your wellbeing, is that so difficult to accept?"

Harry glanced at his watch, bought that summer in Knockturn Alley and capable of telling the time, the weather and the proximity of enemies, like an altered Foe-Glass. It was five thirty PM on the fifth November 1995, there was a hard wind blowing from the north and a storm was approaching, there were 379 enemies within a mile, one within four feet.

"Your concern, if it really is concern you refer to, is appreciated, but invalid in my opinion. After the events of the Triwizard Tournament I needed some space - I wouldn't have gotten that at my aunt's home, so I arranged for a friend to pick me up. It was an enlightening experience, last summer, one I needed to form my opinion upon a great number of things. I think that usually happens after graduation, something I believe you originally planned to do when you were young?"

The reference to Dumbledore's youth had a dual purpose: firstly, that period of time was Dumbledore's weakness; secondly, if Dumbledore believed Harry to know more about his days of shame and guilt, the elder wizard would proceed with even more care with his plans concerning Harry.

"A trip around the world was a common activity for Hogwarts graduates in my time," Dumbledore replied, not betraying his unease. "You went abroad this summer?"

Harry shook his head slightly. "Not this summer, though I am thinking of visiting the mainland later on in life."

"And what about the Death Eaters that kidnapped you?" Dumbledore inquired softly. "Do you not worry about them?"

Harry's lips curled. "During the Third Task I was surprised and didn't quite know how to react, especially concerning the Death Eaters' fanaticism. I am better prepared for the unexpected now – people forcing me to do as they want me to do, will probably find themselves overwhelmed with my resistance."

The double meaning wasn't lost by the other party, though the headmaster refrained from retorting. His student hadn't acted improper so far and actions still told more than words.

"Vengeance shouldn't cloud your judgment, Mr Potter," Dumbledore advised. "Nor should anger at your lot in life confuse your ideals, whatever they may be."

"It isn't anger or a quest for revenge that motivates me, headmaster, it is the reality of my life that shapes my thoughts and beliefs." Harry rose from his chair. "Now if you would excuse me, I have homework to do before dinner."

"You are excused, Mr Potter," Dumbledore concluded. "If you have any question, you are always welcome in my office."

But as the gargoyle closed off, Dumbledore still sat looking at the phoenix, his companion, contemplating the apparent neutral position the Boy-Who-Lived claimed in the greater scheme of life, it was a pity there weren't a lot of people that believed in the greater good of the world.

"It's a far cry from my time with Gellert, isn't it, Fawkes?"

\---

"Let's go for a walk," Luna proposed, "And maybe we'll see a Grumbling Geezer flying."

"Okay," Harry agreed. Luna Lovegood was an odd girl in appearance, wearing accessories that weren't meant to be worn like vegetables and Butterbeer bottle cap, but quite an intelligent friend when one got to know her better. She was to some extent aware of Harry's constant duplicity and accepted it, just as he accepted her oddity.

They gathered their books and put them in their bags before heading out of the castle, onto the grounds of Hogwarts. When they were out of immediate sight, Luna turned to Harry.

"Why do you live like that?" she asked.

"Live like what?" Harry questioned closer.

"Like everything and everybody is an immediate threat to your person."

Harry hesitated for a moment. "Because to me everything I don't have any control of is a threat. I have a very pessimistic look at life because of what I know and am confronted with every time I come close to someone. There isn't a lot in this world I genuinely like. As I'm sure you know, the gift of divination is as much a curse as a gift. Yours works different to mine; to you it comes and goes and you see possibilities, while mine is constant and I _know_ what's beneath the surface. Different gifts, different personalities, thus different reactions.

"I needed to act based off what I knew; what kind of man would I be if I neglected the truth? At the moment, it seems to pay off a little, but who says it's going to do now? The headmaster once told me that it are our choices that define us and to a certain extent he is right. Only time can tell whether I made the right choice."

Luna was silent for a while. "I understand a little, I think. Why did you choose to befriend me? Wouldn't it be more logical for you to hang around with people who partly share your goals?"

Harry grimaced. "Those that support the dark lord's agenda aren't necessarily those that fully realize what it's all about. And despite my choices, a bastard remains a bastard. As much as Malfoy might sympathize with the Death Eaters, he remains a nasty piece of work. Don't get me wrong, Marvolo, the Dark Lord, is quite a bastard himself, but circumstances make it easier for me to work with Marvolo. And there's far more to the Dark Lord then just a coup, something only people with my gift seem to realize.

"As for befriending you... Despite my inner wishes, humans aren't solitary. As much as I would like to isolate myself and live a hermit's life, it would kill me. I hate associating with people, yet I yearn for it at the same time. Everybody needs affection, everybody needs friendship. Taking my gift into account, you're safe. Your wishes aren't too demanding or suffocating, unlike those of others. I can provide you with what you want the most – friendship and understanding – without too much difficulty. The fact that you aren't unintelligent helps; you're interesting person to know."

"Thank you," whispered Luna, "I needed to hear that."

"One of your visions?" questioned Harry.

She nodded. "We were several years older, you resisted Voldemort and defeated him not that far from here when you were eighteen. During the months after killing Voldemort and getting the wizarding world back on its feet, your health – both physical and mental – declined a lot. The scene I witnessed was of you dying like a mad dog. It shook me."

"Guess a Nargle ate my brains," Harry commented, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Are all your visions like that?"

"Not all of them, but there's always something sad that lingers. Once I saw you carrying me from one of the hills surrounding the castle. In that vision, you and I exchanged marriage vows as children after I kidnapped you and you came to live with my parents and I. We were happy and my mum still lived thanks to your intervention. It was a nice dream, but bittersweet at waking up.

"Another time I saw myself giving birth to a boy. Neville Longbottom and I were married. We were happy. But it's unlikely that will happen - I don't know the boy and the events needed to bring us together aren't going to happen now."

Harry didn't comment. Neville was a likable boy if you had the patience to give him self-confidence, but other than that? He was curious though.

"What's different now compared to life in that vision?"

"Hermione Granger talked you into giving defense lessons in what would have been this year; I joined through Ginny Weasley and Neville was a member as well. At the end of that year you, Hermione, Ronald, Ginny, Neville and I went to the Department of Mysteries to save your godfather from torture. Death Eaters and You-Know-Who were there. The next year, Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts, Neville and I were the only two others to help defend the castle. In my sixth year Death Eaters ran Hogwarts and a lot of students that wanted to resist were helped by Neville and I in surviving under the radar."

"You haven't got anyone to speak about your visions, have you?" Harry asked.

"I haven't," Luna acknowledged.

"If you need someone who understands a bit how it's like, you can tell me."

"I'll think about it."

\---

Life as Guy Bloke certainly was interesting. Working directly under Amelia Bones, Bloke was one of those permanent fixtures of the Ministry of Magic, surviving Minister after Minister, department head after department head. He was the head of all the management assistants of the department; if Amelia Bones needed to sign something or received mail, Guy Bloke was the person to go to. It was also Guy Bloke that went through each demand from the law enforcement employees and regularly compiled a list Amelia Bones could easily read through.

If Guy Bloke weren't such a neutral, apolitical person, capable of dealing with all kinds of people, modern law enforcement wouldn't be what it today. It shouldn't be surprising that it was Bloke Barty had to impersonate. For Barty, it was one of the most difficult things he ever had to do – playing Moody under Dumbledore's careful eye was a walk in the park compared to having to act neutral all of the time. Paranoia wasn't difficult to copy, but absolute indifference with a healthy dose of servitude was.

It were the first weeks of impersonating a person that were the most important though and Barty was almost through with them – it being midway into December. The purpose of infiltrating the administrative side of the department of law enforcement was twofold: knowing what lived within the ranks of the Aurors, and finding enough information pertaining Azkaban. The latter especially was a priority, considering that the Death Eaters simply weren't the same without the LeStranges and the others – Lucius Malfoy had grown too arrogant in the years without the Lord.

Barty regretted not being capable of visiting his lover during the holidays, but it simply would be too suspicious. Bloke was, aside his importance among the management assistants, a workaholic and the one important people contacted during times of duress. When the Dark Lord freed his followers in Azkaban, Barty needed to remain in Bloke's house. And remain as inconspicuous as he could.

Barty hoped his mission would succeed.

\---

The train ride to London was a quiet one, even if Luna accompanied Harry and they talked freely to each other. Classes that term had been like they always were – sometimes difficult, sometimes a bore, and time had flown by. While Dolores Umbridge still annoyed Harry, she learned the hard way not to mess with Harry or even Luna. It still amazed Harry how gullible people were – aside from a mild compulsion, Harry hadn't even cursed Umbridge – the woman simply was too stupid to brew and drink a cleansing potion, which would easily cure the compulsion he'd put upon her. She hadn't yet figured it out though and had to procreate six times with a 'halfbreed' already. From what Harry knew, she had spent the night with an Imperius'ed werewolf, a half-troll, and a centaur named Bane.

Harry Apparated to Crouch Manor in Blackpool from a secluded corner at King's Cross, where he was greeted by an enthusiastic Winky, who hadn't seen one of her Masters in weeks. The house was eerily quiet, bringing the absence of Barty closer to mind. It was as Harry ate his meal in silence that he vowed to successfully raise a basilisk. To that end, Harry went about searching for an isolated room in the house, a toad in the garden and a fertilized chicken egg in the city of Blackpool – eventually finding one in the garden of an old couple. It was morning by the time Harry had set everything up.

Harry slept until well into the afternoon that day and made his homework in what was left of the day.

It wasn't until several days had passed that the Dark Lord announced his pending arrival, apparently the Dark Lord decided that Karkaroff's manor was getting too cold and Crouch Manor would be a pleasant change of scenery. It limited Harry's activities only slightly, but it certainly was an interesting experience for their little trinity – Marvolo, Nagini and Harry to be present in the same room. That three was a magical number was confirmed when Harry and Marvolo concentrated on their connection at the same time, bringing Nagini into their folds. For a minute their bodies were illuminated from within and each of their minds relaxed like they never had before.

Despite their closeness, conversations between Marvolo and Harry still happened quite formal and banter wasn't really appreciated. Nagini seemed quite excited of the creation of a basilisk, especially if it was a male basilisk. Apparently all of Marvolo's procreation instincts had joined up in Nagini and her maternal instincts, leaving the Horcrux'ed snake eager to be impregnated by the King of Snakes.

Christmas wasn't a very special day, though received some gifts, one of which was, surprisingly, a journal given by Luna. The Dark Lord in turn was quite surprised to find a small sculpture of a snake among his Christmas gifts, fetched from the room behind Salazar's statue in the Chamber of Secrets and created by the founder himself.

It was on the thirtieth of December that the Dark Lord told Harry they and the Death Eaters would be breaking the followers in Azkaban out the next day.

\---

Side-Along-Apparition was a nasty experience, the feeling of being squished through a narrow tube even more prominent than with regular Apparition, though it was a testament of the Dark Lord's capacities that he could do so with a snake and a fellow wizard as companions.

Their destination was once again the grounds of the old Riddle manor, Wormtail arriving quickly after them from the deceased caretaker's house near the edge of the grounds. The Animagus, dressed in his Death Eater garb just as Harry was, greeted them cordially, offering his Dark Mark to the Dark Lord so the latter could summon the rest of the Death Eaters.

It was a stark contrast to the previous few meetings Harry had witnessed, all of the Death Eaters prepared for action. The Death Eater Harry identified as McNair carried with him an ax, while Crabbe and Goyle senior carried beater bats.

"For too long has our kin been banished to the prison of Azkaban, no more say I! Some among you have helped greatly in the preparations of this mission proving once more the power we carry when we stand together! I do not expect great trouble in freeing our fellow men and women from the dark isle, but it would be arrogant for me to negate the risks. Most of you have family locked behind bars, others may be reminded of their brief passage years ago and it is true we should fear the Dementors guarding the prison, but I have confidence in your abilities and feel confident in my own strength. Tonight we free our compatriots and tomorrow we feast! Death Eaters, split up in groups of five, Portkeys have been provided by our colleagues in the Ministry."

A hand sign from Marvolo made Harry refrain from joining the others, apparently he would be taking a Portkey with the Dark Lord. Nagini remained behind to guard the clearing – it would after all be a sorry affair if they succeeded in freeing the Death Eaters in Azkaban only to be captured at arrival in Little Hangleton.

The Portkeys to Azkaban weren't charmed to operate with a passing phrase or transport at touch like the on from the Third Task, rather they were timed like the Portkeys used for the Quidditch World Cup – the difference between a Ministry issued Portkey and a custom-made Portkey.

Azkaban Prison was unlike what he imagined it to be – there was no dark, stony fortress, nor did it resemble any Muggle prison Harry had ever seen, rather it was like a fortified manor with a silver fence and only one entrance protected by a steep stone wall, invisible from the inside, enchanted to shift form and position, and a guard post on either side of the inner gates. The trust the Ministry of Magic had in the Dementors was great, that much was clear from the number of human guards assigned to this outpost of wizarding Britain – a grand number of three demoted Aurors. Since the Death Eaters arrived through quite legal ways, thanks to Barty's influence as Guy Bloke and Yaxley's position as a member of the Wizengammot Office, the road to the guards went without much trouble. Walden McNair and Gregory Goyle senior's beater bats were put to good use by knocking two guards out, Tiberius Worcestershire casting a thorough Stunner Blast Hex at the third. The oldest guard, the one Tiberius hexed, was quickly relieved of the Keys of Azkaban. It was unlikely he would ever resume his duty as Keeper of the Keys of Azkaban.

Once the doors were opened and all twenty Death Eaters had entered – not every member participated in the action related part of the organization - Marvolo divided everybody into pairs. Their mission was to release the prisoners wearing the Dark Mark; Marvolo himself would seek out the prime Dementor and Harry's task was to remain at the entrance and assure their escape. It was an important task which, were he part of the regular Death Eater hierarchy, represented a lot of honor to be given. Harry wasn't a simple servant however, he was the silver masked aid – still an unknown, thus a legend, to most operating under Lord Voldemort's banner.

By the time an hour had passed, Harry had closely examined the guards' provisions, stunned, silenced and levitated the Aurors upside down, summoned a snake and ordered it to be a lookout and received a visit by several curious Dementors. The Seer in Harry rejoiced in their presence – Dementors numbed his ability greatly, while Harry's consciousness hated not being able to detect his surroundings completely. Slowly the Death Eaters arrived, some accompanied by shadows of what once were men and women, others returning alone. Despite the Dementors' close proximity, the number of people near him simply couldn't be suppressed. Those that hadn't resided in Azkaban were complicated in a way Harry couldn't explain properly – how did one describe desire within desire and hope from association properly?

The former prisoners in contradiction were, like Barty, simple and raw – revenge, devotion and the yearning of freedom at the forefront of their mind. No doubt that after several years that would disappear and the attraction Harry felt now evaporate gradually, but as long as he was in the presence of their primal fears and wishes, he would bathe in that sense of belonging – his gift, ability, curse, seemed to exist in order for Harry to help people achieve their heart's desire – it was a relief to realize he controlled his instincts instead of his instincts controlling him.

An hour and a half after their arrival, all Death Eaters were assembled and it was only a matter of the Dark Lord rejoining them before they could leave. Before Marvolo did so though, dark clouds gather above them and a team of five Hit-Wizards Portkey'd in. Harry's conjured snake was their only warning, but it sufficed.

Their leader must have sensed rising trouble, for Marvolo came sweeping from an obscured room mere seconds after the Hit-Wizards' arrival. Orders were given, a tactic quickly shared. Five Death Eaters, among whom Harry, would lead them to the designed open spot of the wards, the prisoners, seven Death Eaters forming the back of the circle, while Marvolo and two teams of four would hopefully provide enough distraction.

Getting into Azkaban wasn't difficult, all it took was a paper from the Ministry and a Portkey. Breaking out of Azkaban, especially after Sirius Black's escape, was going to be hard.


End file.
